The Horror In The Southern Isles
by SixGoldenCoins
Summary: Hans meddles with something he can't possibly comprehend. One-shot.


Prince Hans may have been many things, but one thing he was not, was unprepared.

Predictably, after Hans was sent back to the Southern Isles, his eldest brother, King Klaus, had him thrown into the castle's dungeon after finding out what he did. Hans only had a few days in there before he would likely be executed.

However, even after failing miserably in his original plan to usurp Arendelle's throne, Hans still had one last thing to fall back on. He was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but he had no choice. If he wanted to be a king, he needed help.

* * *

Hans paced about inside his cell. The small torch just outside the locked door dimly illuminated the dungeon's hallway, the faint light reaching about a foot into the confined room.

Hans suddenly heard the door leading into the dungeon open, and footsteps start down the stairs. As they came closer, Hans moved to the cell door and peered through the small, iron-barred window. And that was when he saw who was making the footsteps. It was one of the castle's servants, the only one Hans could trust to do this sort of thing.

His name was Fritz, a mustached, skinny little man who somewhat resembled a younger Duke of Weselton. Before his trip to Arendelle, Hans had spent quite the amount of time interacting with Fritz. He learned some interesting things about him: for one, he had no friends, and almost no family left save for a deranged cousin locked away in a lunatic asylum. So when Hans showed him the slightest bit of kindness, Fritz was all too eager to do whatever was asked of him.

In his hands, Fritz carried a small oil lamp and a dinner tray, complete with cutlery and silver lid on top. He walked up to the door and peered into the cell. He was immediately met with Hans' gaze, and jumped a bit, not expecting him to be standing right behind the door. Fritz nervously looked back at the dungeon stairs, to make sure no one else was around to listen.

"I-I have brought what you asked, my prince," he whispered.

"Good. Open the door," Hans replied.

Fritz set down his lamp for a moment and fumbled around in his pocket for a single key. He drew it out, put it into the cell's keyhole, and turned it. A quiet _click_ was heard as the door unlocked. Fritz put the key away, picked up the lamp, and walked in. As the lamp shone over the cell's walls, one could see that the entire room was barren, save for the two men that already stood inside it.

Without waiting for Fritz to do anything, Hans reached for the tray himself, took it from him, and removed the silver lid. Underneath it, instead of the usual meal, there lay two things: a black chalkpiece, and an odd-looking book.

"Thank you, Fritz. Be sure to come back in exactly thirty minutes," said Hans.

"Your Highness?"

"You'll still need to come back for the tray, will you not?"

"O-oh, of course. Very well then..." As Fritz started to walk out the door, he stopped and turned back for a moment.

"Prince Hans, I...whatever you're trying to do, I hope it works out for you, and...I'm glad to be your friend. If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

Hans stifled the urge to chuckle. "I'm glad to be your friend, too. But that will be all, for now."

Fritz gave a quick bow and turned, leaving the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it. Hans waited until his footsteps grew faint, then picked up the book off the tray.

Hans surveyed the dark-brown, leathery tome. It was an exceedingly rare book, and Hans only knew of a handful of other copies in the world that existed. One of them was located at the British Museum, while another rotted away in a university in the United States. He was not certain if the book's cover was made out of an animal's hide, or something a bit more gruesome. But he was certain of the nature of the book.

The book Hans held was the Kitab Al-Azif; the Book of Dead Names. The Necronomicon.

Hans had first found the book tucked away in the castle library two years prior. It was hidden behind several large encyclopedias, almost as though whoever put it there didn't want it out in the open. Once he discovered it, Hans had spent hours poring over its contents, and saw the potential for untold power that lay in its yellowed pages. Until now, he had always been too nervous to actually do anything the book described, but now, he had little choice. Once the ritual was complete, Hans was certain he would command forces that would make him the most powerful king to ever rule the Southern Isles; and once he overthrew his brothers, he would expand his empire, taking over all the other kingdoms, every other nation, until there was nothing left to conquer.

Emperor Hans, of Earth. Yes, he quite liked the sound of it.

Hans carefully opened the Necronomicon, and turned to a specific page,. Taking the black chalkpiece from the tray, Hans started to scrawl, on the cell's stone floor, the strange symbol that the page depicted. Hans took his time drawing out each line; every angle needed to be precise if this little summoning was to go smoothly.

As he worked, Hans' thoughts turned to Arendelle, and his failed plan. Even though it had already been a few days, he still felt rage towards those who put him in his current predicament; the ice queen, the annoying peasant and his idiot reindeer, and...Anna. Princess Anna of Arendelle, the one woman who was stupid enough to trust a man she had just met, but was still good enough to foil his plan. Hans imagined that everyone had a good laugh over him once he was sent back on the ship. After today, though, nobody would ever laugh at him again.

After finally finishing his delicate task, Hans stood back to survey the entire thing. He felt a bit proud of himself. He had just completed a sigil from the Necronomicon, on a stone floor, using nothing for lighting but the small torch outside his door. The sigil's various intersecting lines formed a rough, hexagonal shape in its center. Several bizarre characters, in a long-dead language, were written around the sigil.

He didn't get too much time to admire his handiwork, as he heard the dungeon's door open once more, Fritz's footsteps descending the stairs. It looked like his thirty minutes were up.

Hans quickly tossed aside his chalk and picked up the dinner knife that came with the tray, tucking it behind his left hand, as Fritz came up to the door.

"Have you finished, your Highness?"

"Almost, Fritz. But there's one more thing I need you to do."

"But of course, my prince! Anything!"

Hans indicated the sigil. "Please step inside, and stand over this."

Fritz paused for a moment at the odd request, but unlocked the door anyway, once again walking into the room. His lamp allowed him to easily make out the detailed patterns that lay on the floor.

"You want me...to stand here?" he asked.

"Yes, Fritz. In the center of it, please."

Fritz didn't hesitate this time. They were friends, after all. He stepped into the hexagonal center of the sigil. He was curious as to why Hans requested this of him, though.

"But, what purpose do I serve by doing this?", Fritz asked.

Hans stepped up behind him and used the knife to quickly stab into Fritz's neck, puncturing his carotid artery. He jerked the blade free, and fresh crimson blood spurted from the wound. A look of shock came over Fritz's face as he clutched at his neck, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

"Oh, nothing important," Hans smirked.

As Fritz fell to his knees, Hans knelt down and took the lamp from him; he had somehow managed to hold onto it, even after getting sliced. With his free hand, Hans grabbed him by the back of the head, and shoved him face-first into the center of the sigil. His blood pooled around it and obscured the angled lines and characters.

There was only one more thing to do. Hans turned down the oil lamp's wick, then blew out the flame. The cell was now in almost complete darkness.

Hans waited, and waited. And waited some more. Did he get an angle wrong? Perhaps he hadn't gotten enough of Fritz's blood on the sigil? Hans was about to give up, go upstairs and turn himself in to the guards, but what happened next immediately made him scratch that option from his mind. A small, dark-blue portal began to form around the center of the sigil. For a brief moment, it lit up the cell, and Hans could see Fritz's body, blood and all, get sucked through the tiny portal. It then shrank until it disappeared.

There was darkness once more, but Hans noticed that it was different this time; before, there was still the torch outside the cell, providing a slight amount of visibility. Now, however, there was no light at all, anywhere. This darkness felt thick and heavy, foreboding and sinister.

Hans sensed something in the room with him. He immediately felt afraid, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He cleared his throat, and tried to speak.

"H-hello?"

There was silence for a moment, then, whatever was standing a few feet away from Hans spoke.

_"For what purpose did you call me, human?"_

The thing's voice grated on Hans' ears. It sounded harsh, cruel. He wasn't sure if it was making audible noise, or if it was putting words directly into his mind. Hans took a deep breath, then replied.

"I have summoned you, because there is something you have, that I desire."

_"And what is it that you desire, prince?"_

How did it know that Hans was of royal blood? He quickly brushed this curiosity away; it was irrelevant.

"I desire your knowledge, and your power."

There was another, brief moment of silence.

_"You are not fit for power, of any sort."_

Hans was taken aback at this. His fear began to be replaced by anger. He was not fit for power? Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles, who had come so close to taking over an entire kingdom by wits alone, was not fit for power?

"I did not go to all this trouble, scribbling out that sigil, cutting that stupid bastard's throat, and performing a summoning ritual, just to hear you tell me that I don't deserve power! Do you realize who you are speaking to?" said Hans, his voice raised.

He listened for a reply, and after a moment, the thing spoke again.

_"You would do well to not attempt to order me about, human,"_ it hissed.

"And you would do well to recognize authority when you see it! I summoned you, I am your master now! You do as I say! Now...now give me your power! I command you!" Hans angrily replied.

This time the thing waited almost half a minute before speaking.

_"You are but a mere human, a bag of flesh. You are as small and insignificant to me, as a piece of bacteria is small and insignificant to a galaxy. You are a petty animal, with petty desires: for conquering, for bloodshed. And there will be much conquering and bloodshed in the future, but you...you will not have any part in it."_

Hans could not handle this. He yelled in frustration, getting down on his hands and knees, pounding his fists on the floor.

"It's not fair! I had to be born thirteenth in line to the throne, and I had to fail in every attempt I ever made to try and fix that! Why can't you just listen to me? Why can't you just give me what I want?! _IT'S. NOT. FAIR!_" he cried.

Hans pounded his fists on the floor one last time. His outburst had caused him to be short of breath, with his hands experiencing a dull pain from hitting them off of stone. He stood back up, breathing heavily.

There was a silence, with no reply from the being. Hans stood in the dark with gritted teeth, awaiting an answer. For five long minutes, nothing happened. Had the thing left?

Just when Hans was about to give up, he heard it speak, this time in an even lower, more grating voice.

_"You are not fit for power, but perhaps...perhaps, you are fit for knowledge. Yes, I believe I will share some of it with you."_

Hans was suddenly overcome with fear once more, his anger quickly evaporating like steam. He felt like running, but his legs didn't seem to want to work. He stood rooted to the ground.

Hans felt four ropey, tentacle-like appendages snake up his legs, his chest, then around his head. He gave a cry of pain as two of them shot into his nostrils, the other two inserting themselves into his ears.

Images and sounds began to quickly flood through Hans' senses. In his mind's eye, he saw faint, outlined visions of frightening, nameless things; visions of a race of fishmen and their two monstrous leaders; visions of a malevolent, rust-colored, cloud-like entity; visions of a colossal, squid-like creature slumbering in a drowned city with impossible geometry; visions of an amorphous, tentacled horror floating in a dark void.

One more vision flashed through Hans' mind; that of a man, clad in the garb of a pharaoh. But this "pharaoh" didn't look right. He was 9 feet tall, his skin was black as the night, and he had no mouth. For some unknown reason, Hans felt there was a connection between this "man" and the thing he had summoned.

The "pharaoh's" eyes were completely white, piercing through to the soul. Hans saw, in his head, those eyes staring into him. They stared, and stared, and stared, until Hans couldn't take it anymore.

"LET GO OF ME!" the frightened prince shrieked. To his surprise, the being listened, drawing its roped tendrils out of his ears and nose and snaking off his body completely.

Hans had enough. No kingdom was worth this. Remembering that the cell door was still unlocked after his now-deceased servant had gone into the room, Hans wrenched it open and stumbled out. He was greeted with the warm relief of the lit dungeon hallway. The darkness must have all been contained in the room he just left. Hans grabbed the small torch off the wall, his only source of light left, and held onto it tightly. He was going to walk up those stone stairs, go right up to the guards, and demand to be moved to a cell in an entirely different location. Preferably one that was well-lit and surrounded by people. Or, alternatively, they would execute him on the spot after seeing that he left his cell. Hans wasn't sure he cared which happened. He just wanted to get out of there.

As Hans was about to start walking, he made the mistake of looking back into the cell.

Somehow, that thick darkness had disappeared altogether, and the torch allowed him to see exactly what it was that he had been talking to inside that cramped room. While his visions had only been shadowy glimpses, this was fully detailed. The thing he saw looked horrible, and could not exist in any sane universe.

It was a constantly-shifting, black mass of eyes, claws, legs, and tendrils. Parts of it would seemingly phase out of existence and reappear a few feet beside their original positions. It had length, width, height, and about six or seven other dimensions to it.

Before his mind snapped completely, Hans saw the thing's teeth-like formations, all 4,158 of them, twist into what could only be described as a very, very nasty smile.

* * *

When the royal guards watching over the dungeon's entrance had not seen Fritz come back for five minutes, they all drew straws to see who would have to go down there and investigate. Before they could finish doing so, the loudest, most pained scream they had ever heard emanated from the door that led to the dungeon. It was Prince Hans' voice they heard, crying out in terror.

Without hesitation, the guards abandoned any ideas of just one of them descending into that dungeon alone. Instead, all five of them stormed down the stairs together, lanterns lit and swords drawn. Once they had gotten to the bottom of the steps, a foul stench assaulted their noses. After seeing that Hans' cell door was open, the men carefully inched closer, not sure of what to expect next. They cautiously peered into the cell, and saw...nobody. Fritz was nowhere to be found, and neither was Hans. The guards took note of the various objects that lay scattered; the dinner tray, the piece of black chalk, the dusty old book that lay near the strange, angled patterns and runes on the floor. But where was that rotting odor coming from?

One guard then looked up at the ceiling, and immediately leaned against the wall and vomited. Upon seeing his reaction, the other guards looked upwards to the ceiling as well. Three more guards vomited, the fifth and last one just managing to keep his lunch down so he could run back upstairs.  
As he ran through the castle halls, he stopped the first servant he saw.

"Get the king, please! We need him immediately, down in the dungeon!"

Once King Klaus of the Southern Isles had been found and escorted to the dungeon, he too was shown the macabre scene.

Prince Hans had somehow been violently smashed into the cell's ceiling, then forcibly smeared every which way until the entire top of the cell was a dark reddish-brown. A disgusting mixture of blood, bone, clothing, flesh, organ, and hair coated the ceiling. While the king was made of tougher stuff than his guards, he still gagged and had to fight the urge to throw up. As Klaus looked at what had been thrown around on the floor, he saw the foreboding manuscript that lay near the sigil. He picked it up and put it into a guard's hand.

"Burn it," Klaus commanded.

"...what?" the guard asked, confused.

"Burn it, now. I don't care how you do it, I just want this evil book destroyed."

"I...begging your pardon, your Majesty. I will see to it right away."

With that, the guard went back upstairs, in search of a nice, hot fireplace. The king turned away from the grisly sight and addressed the remaining four guards.

"None of you are to speak of this to anyone, ever again. As far as anyone else knows, Prince Hans simply committed suicide in this cell, and his body was taken away and cremated."

Klaus took a deep breath, then continued.

"Because of today's...unfortunate events, you will all be dismissed for the day. You are not to report what you've seen today to anyone. If I find out you have, I will ensure that you are all hung. Do you understand?"

Each guard nodded, agreeing with their king's orders. None of them wanted to remember today, anyway.

"Very well. Please have some servants sent down here, to clear this mess away."

When the three cleaning servants came down to the dungeon, Klaus repeated to them the same warning he had given his guards.

Ultimately, the Southern Isles' copy of the Necronomicon was indeed destroyed, and all the witnesses kept their mouths shut. But an entire new dungeon needed to be constructed, and the old one sealed off completely. For while the servants were able to clear away the objects and Prince Hans' gruesome remains, no one was able to erase those strange, eldritch symbols that had been drawn onto the floor.

No matter how much they tried to remove that sigil, it never did come off.


End file.
